


you're still the one

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: Five times Leo Fitz writes Lance Hunter a song, and one time Hunter writes one for Fitz.





	you're still the one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Florchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/gifts).



 i.

They meet in a back alley behind a production studio, a grey sky looming over them.

Hunter leans against the wall, smoking a cigarette and moping about the unfortunate turn his life has taken. He's not expecting anyone else to be out back, but a man with curly hair sidles up to him like he owns the alleyway.

“Those things’ll kill you, you know.” The shorter man says, his Scottish brogue thick in the midnight air. Hunter shrugs his shoulders, then stubs the cigarette out against the brick wall he’s leaning on.

“They’re supposed to be relaxing.” Hunter scrubs his hand through his hair. “Not much good at that, though.” He doesn’t plan to ever smoke a cigarette again. This had been a one time thing, borne of too much stress and not enough healthy coping mechanisms. His manager had shooed him out back, insisting he needed to, in her words, calm the fuck down. Hunter loves Izzy, but he hates how she treats him like a child sometimes. (There’s a lot to  be said  about how sometimes he loves how she treats him like a child. That’s a different conversation for a different alley, though.)

The shorter man nods in understanding. “Why d’you need to relax?” He asks, like he’s Hunter’s friend and not a literal stranger. Hunter doesn’t understand this.  He understands even less with the other man leans on the wall across from him, intent on having an actual conversation.

“I’m a singer who can’t write songs for shit,” Hunter answers, against his better judgement.  He doesn’t like to complain - he’s doing better than most, all things considered, but it is frustrating that nothing he sings feels like him.  He can give songwriters ideas, and  occasionally  comes up with a good phrase or two, but for the most part, he’s hopeless.

“Y’know, neither can I, and I’m supposed to be good at it,” the man laughs. That explains why he would be back here;  maybe  a similar nervous breakdown? “Guess it’s  just  a bad time to be songwriting.”

Hunter raises his cigarette in solidarity, ash falling from the tip. “I doubt yours can be worse than mine, mate. I tried to rhyme mango with Django.” That had, of course, led to a song that was confusing at best, and horrible at worse.

The other man laughs, low and warm. It’s nice, because Hunter doesn’t feel like he’s  being laughed  at - there’s  just  some resigned commiseration. “Alright,  maybe  I’m not that bad.”

“Why don’t you show me something?” Hunter asks. It’s not like he has anything left to lose. The man looks at him  strangely  , but then withdraws a crumpled sheet of paper from one of his pockets. He tosses it to Hunter, who catches it  deftly. It’s a good thing, too, otherwise it would’ve landed straight in the puddle at Hunter’s feet.

He smooths the paper out, eyes skimming across the lyrics. “This is good!” Hunter exclaims. He winces. “Sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound so surprised.”

The other man laughs again. “I’m only a little offended.”

“Good,” Hunter says with a warm smile. “You looking for a job?” He asks, deciding to cut to the chase.

A pause, then a nod.

“Come inside with me,” Hunter says.

“Alright.”

And that’s how Lance Hunter got Leo Fitz a job before even knowing his name.

 

ii. 

Hunter likes the songwriter that he picked up in a back alley. He likes him a lot. Fitz has a temper about him, but he’s also wicked smart, and, of course,  amazingly  good at writing songs. He encourages Hunter to try to write songs of his own every once in a while, with varying degrees of success.  Hunter’s resigned to his own emotional incompetence, which makes writing difficult, but Fitz seems to think he’s got more in him.

“Come on. Try again,” Fitz insists.

“You do realize that if I get good at songwriting, I’m not going to need you, right?” Hunter asks. He flicks a balled up piece of paper at Fitz, hitting him in the middle of the forehead. Fitz gives him a long-suffering look, and sighs.

“Even professionals sometimes need help from other songwriters,” Fitz answers. “Besides, Izzy wouldn’t let you fire me.”

“Bah,” Hunter says, making a face. “Izzy’s not the boss of me.” He is ignoring the fact that, almost by definition as his manager, Izzy _is_ the boss of him. It’s a moot point, though, because Hunter is never going to get good enough at songwriting to make Fitz fear for his job.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Fitz says. He finishes whatever line he was working on, and slides the paper over to Hunter. “Read this, and tell me what makes it good.”

Hunter does as he’s told, scanning the sheet in front of him. “Uh… well, there are some words. Definitely some good words. And they’re… wordy.” That’s the problem: Hunter can tell good songs from bad songs, but he can’t describe why something is good or bad. It’s all in the way that it makes him feel, and he can’t feel a song that hasn’t  been written  yet.

“You’re hopeless,” Fitz says, taking back the sheet. “Really  hopeless.”

“I know,” Hunter replies. He can’t even drum up the energy to  be insulted by  Fitz’s words, because they  just  confirm what he already knows. Hunter likes to defy people’s expectations, but this… this is not his wheelhouse, and that’s okay.

“You’re lucky I lo - you’re lucky I like you,” Fitz says.  He pretends like he wasn’t about to say the word love, and Hunter lets him, even though his heart skips a beat at the almost-word.

Maybe, Hunter thinks, he’d be a better songwriter if he had something better to write about.

 

iii. 

“Have you seen this?” Fitz asks without preamble, dropping the magazine on the table in front of Hunter. Hunter takes a moment to focus on the headline, and his eyes go wide when he reads it. _Lance Hunter and Leo Fitz - Lovers or Losers_. The accompanying picture is one of the two of them walking into some industry party together.  They’re not holding hands - Hunter doesn’t want to think about the way his stomach flips when he considers holding Leo’s hand - but they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, familiarity oozing from their pores as they smile at each other.

“They think we’re in love?” Hunter asks  dumbly. He doesn’t know what else to say to that, because he can’t believe that utter strangers have seen through his facade. If the tabloids think he’s in love with Leo… Except, the tabloids spin crazy stuff like this all the time.  Even if he hadn’t been  desperately  in love with his best friend, they would have tried to spin it that way, because it got people to buy a copy.

It got Leo to buy a copy, and he knows the truth about their relationship, more than any tabloid ever will.

“Yeah.”

“Is that… a problem?” Hunter asks.  He can continue to avoid his feelings as long as he damn well pleases, but if this whole thing is causing a problem for Leo, then he wants to fix it. He doesn’t want his best friend to  be hurt by  anything or anyone, least of all him.

“Yes!” Leo explodes. “I mean - no, but also yes, and -!” Leo throws his hands into the air, irritation obvious in the lines of his face.  Hunter waits for his friend to get a grip on his emotions,  pointedly  ignoring the sting in his heart at Leo being so upset that anyone would ever think they were  romantically  involved. He should’ve known better.

“Okay,” Hunter says  slowly. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re upset?” His absolute idiocy with emotions is showing right about now, Hunter thinks. He doesn’t know how else to go about getting to the bottom of this.

“Because I’m in love with you, you pillock!” Leo shouts.

All Hunter can hear is the crashing of his blood in his ears as his heart pounds and pounds, climbing up into his throat. Now is when he should say something, but words aren’t coming. He’s so shocked by the revelation - _Leo is in love with him_ \- that his muscles have frozen into place.

“I knew this would happen,” Leo fumes. “ Just  \-  just  forget about it, Hunter, I’ll get over it, I -”

That’s all the time Hunter needs to get up from his chair and face Leo. There’s a moment of dizzying fear, and then Hunter presses his lips to Leo’s. Then he’s kissing his best friend, and it feels like things are falling into place.

“I’m in love with you, too,” Hunter says when he breaks away.

“Hold that thought a sec.” Leo grabs for the magazine that had caused this whole mess and the pen that’s on the table next to it. He scrawls a couple of words that are  barely  legible before turning back to Hunter.

Lance laughs.  He’s aware that that’s not how things  normally  go - there’s supposed to be more kisses after the frantic first one, he’s sure - but he likes it anyways.  He fell in love with Leo’s brain  just  as much as the other parts of him, so  naturally  he would love that Leo would interrupt kissing to write a song.

“I’m going to need a few more metaphors,” Leo says  seriously. “Care to help me?”

Lance laughs again, warmth surrounding him from head to toe as he kisses Leo again, and again, and again. For the sake of the song, of course.

 

iv. 

Everything feels wrong. Hunter’s felt a lot of loss in his life. He knows what it feels like when someone’s there, and then they’re not. But he never thought it would be Izzy.

It’s his first show since Izzy’s accident - Izzy’s death.  He has to stop calling it The Accident, capitals and all, because it wasn’t the accident that was tearing him up inside. It was what happened after, in the hospital room.  He tries to shake the thought from his mind, but it’s not until he feels a familiar weight on his shoulder that Hunter can focus on anything else.

“Are you going to be alright?” Leo asks him.  Hunter shrugs his shoulders  noncommittally  , and that’s enough of a cause for concern for Leo to sit down beside him.  Hunter lays his head on Leo’s shoulder, heaving out a sigh as his boyfriend begins combing through his hair in soft strokes.

“I’m sorry that it hurts so much,” Leo says. “If I could, I would take away the pain.”

Hunter moves his head in a rough approximation of a nod. He knows that Leo would do a lot for him. He knows that it’s because of Leo that he was able to delay performing for as long as he had. His boyfriend’s formidable temper had given him more time by scaring anyone who dared ask when he would be back.

Leo twines their fingers together. He raises their joined hands to his laps, brushing a quick kiss against Hunter’s knuckles. “I have a song  I think  you should sing tonight.”

Hunter sits up at that. Giving him a song hours before a performance was not something that Leo did, and he’s beyond curious.  He wonders if it’s a ploy - something to distract him until the moment he has to step out onto stage - but even if it is, he’s not sure that he cares.  He’ll take any distraction he can get right now, especially one that’s more productive than sitting and staring at a wall. 

Leo hands him the song, and Hunter’s brow furrows. “I hate to tell you this, love, but  I think  someone’s beaten you to writing this one.”

“I know,” Leo replies with a shrug. “But it was Izzy’s favorite song. I thought you might want to sing something for her.”

Hunter opens his mouth, expecting what comes out of his mouth to be some sort of excuse. It feels like too much, too soon. If he sings the song, then he’s going to have to admit that she’s gone. He’s not sure he can do that. But instead of a reason why he can’t sing it, Hunter says, “Okay.”

Leo leans forward, kissing his cheek  softly. “I can come with you, if you’d like.” And that means a lot. Leo hates being on stage for any reason, so for him to offer it…

“I’d like that,” Hunter replies. He takes Leo’s hand again, squeezing it. He still feels like the world is off-kilter, and there’s still an Izzy-shaped hole in his heart, but he has Leo.

 

v. 

Hunter had never expected to become the sort of person who sang love songs, but here he is.  He's sitting in his boyfriend’s bedroom, reading the YouTube comments on the latest single he released. The song is, of course, a love song.  His relationship with Leo is public enough that there are many, many comments about how cute they are, and how _romantic_ it is that Hunter’s boyfriend writes love songs for him to perform. Of course Lance loves Leo, and he loves Leo’s songs, but it still makes him gag a little to read the fawning comments.

“You’re lucky I’m almost as narcissistic as you are,” Leo mutters as he scrolls down through the comments, pausing  occasionally  to read one that looks particularly juicy. “Otherwise we’d have finished looking at these hours ago.”

“Almost as narcissistic?” Hunter asks, bumping his shoulder against Leo’s. “Try  just  as narcissistic, love.”

Fitz huffs. “Alright, we’re both bloody narcissists. Happy?”

Lance smiles. “I mean, I don’t think I should be happy about it, but…” He pecks Leo on the cheek. “If I’m in the hole, at least you’re here with me.” Sure, Hunter would like if he was the perfect human being, but he’s not, and he doesn’t need Leo to be, either. At least this way they both understand each other’s flaws.

Fitz wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. “Why would I want to be anywhere with _you_?” He asks. Hunter sticks his tongue out, and Fitz returns the gesture.

“God, we’re disgusting,” Hunter mutters to himself as he rolls away from Fitz. “We’re _that couple_ , Leo.” And  honestly  , they’ve been that couple for the past three years. It’s crazy, how time flies so fast.

“I know,” Fitz sighs. “At least these people don’t see us like this, or they’d have even more to say.”

Hunter pauses. “Does it ever bother you? That people watch us?” It was a little weird to him that people they didn’t even know  were invested  in their relationship.  It could’ve been a lot worse - Hunter wasn’t an A-lister by any stretch of the imagination - but there’s still enough scrutiny that Hunter’s a little uncomfortable with it. He’s well aware that it’s a little late in the game to be asking that question, but better late than never, he thinks.

“Not  really.” Leo shrugs. “I mean, my songs are  basically  pieces of my soul put into words, so it’s not that different, I guess?” He shrugs again, seeming at a loss for words. “They’ve already heard a lot of me. Seeing a little more isn’t going to do me in.”

Hunter’s relieved by the answer. “Good, because they’re all demanding another love song.” He pokes the screen, where a comment asking when the next love song was coming has accrued over a thousand likes.

“Their wish is my command,” Leo snorts. “You know, they’re all lucky I  really  like you, otherwise I would’ve run out of things to say a long time ago.”

Lance laughs. “I’m lucky you  really  like me, too.” He doesn’t move  quickly  enough when Leo throws a pillow at him, and Hunter whines. They stop goofing around when Leo puts his pad on his knee, though. The silence isn’t bad, though - it’s good enough, in fact, that when it’s over, a masterpiece has been born.

 

+i. 

Hunter steps off the stage with sweat pouring off him.  It seems like as the venues get bigger, they also get hotter - which makes sense, because there’s more bodies and more body heat, but he hates getting off stage and feeling like he’s stepped out of a pool. One of the stagehands hands him a towel, which he accepts  gratefully.

“Anyone know where Leo is?” There’s a variety of answers, most of them no’s, until someone tells him that Leo’s in Hunter’s dressing room. It’s not abnormal for his boyfriend to wait for him there, and Hunter relaxes somewhat. After he’s finished a show, all Hunter wants to do is hug Leo and sleep, so it’s convenient that he can do it in the same place.

Echoes of congratulations for another job well done follow him down the hall, and Hunter thanks the crew as best as he can while dead tired.  He’s relieved when he makes it to his dressing room, pushing the door open with his shoulder before stepping across the space.

The first thing he sees is Leo with a piece of paper in his hands. Ah, shit.

“What’s this?” Leo asks, looking up from the paper.

“It’s a song,” Hunter answers with a shrug. He’s trying to be casual about it, but he hadn’t meant for Leo to see the paper - at least not yet. Leaving it out had been careless of him.

“You’re replacing me?”  Leo looks more than a little hurt, which is understandable, since he thinks his boyfriend is firing him. If that was intention, it would’ve been  perhaps  the shittiest thing ever done by a human.

“No,” Hunter replies. “I - uh… I wrote it.” His face is already red from his exertion, but Hunter swears his cheeks are getting even pinker. “You weren’t supposed to see it until next week.”

Leo puts the paper down. “I can pretend I didn’t see it, if you want,” he offers. “So you wrote me a song to…”

“To propose, yeah,” Hunter finishes  awkwardly. The song he had written was different from any love song Leo had ever penned, because Lance wasn’t Leo.  He didn’t consider himself much good at talking about how he felt, so he’s not sure that it’s a good song, but… it’s definitely a song.

“Oh.” Leo says,  obviously  at as much of a loss as Hunter is. “Well, it’s a good song.”

“Good enough that you’d say yes?” Hunter teases. His voice goes flat somewhere between his throat and his mouth, though, so it doesn’t sound joking at all.

“Yeah,” Leo says, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I would’ve said yes.”

“Okay.” Hunter says. He blows out a breath. “Give me a minute, would you?”  Leo nods, sitting on one of the sofas in the dressing room while Hunter begins rummaging through a disorderly pile in the corner. He comes out with a guitar, and sits on the chair opposite Leo.

“Since you know what I’m going to sing, you have to pretend to  be surprised,” Hunter instructs  seriously.

“Okay,” Leo says, the corners of his lips quirking up. “How’s my surprised face?”  He contorts his face into the most over-the-top look of shock ever, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline and his mouth  perfectly  round.

“It’s beautiful,” Hunter chuckles, nerves ebbing away. “Like you.”

He starts strumming the guitar before Leo can respond, knowing that it’d be too easy for them to get caught up in teasing each other and never get on with the actual proposal part. Hunter hadn’t  really  wanted to do it covered and sweat and wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s used to things not  really  going to plan.

“Looks like we made it…” Hunter’s hands shake as he continues plucking out the chords of the song, singing along with a voice that becomes  increasingly  fraught with emotion. He manages to stumble out the last line, and then looks at Leo. “Five years ago, I met you while smoking a cigarette.  I never knew that we’d end up here, but I wanted you to know that after all this time, you’re still the one for me, and you always will be.” He swallows. “So, will you marry me?”

Leo’s crying, but he’s nodding, too. He throws himself around Lance, clinging to him even with the guitar between their bodies.

Lance smiles into Leo’s neck, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. They took the long way around, but they made it here, and that’s all that counts. Leo’s still the one for him - and he always will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Flor! I must apologize again for forgetting about the timezone switch, or I would have actually posted this before you went to sleep. :(
> 
> Also, AO3 seems dead set on screwing with the format of this fic for some reason, so if it looks wonky for you, let me know!


End file.
